We Give Too Much For Perfection
by jadorejaune
Summary: And because all we feel are the lies that let us sleep at night, and the loneliness of a life we once thought was perfect, we will never again be the same. One Shots.
1. Chapter 1

There was no give.

It stretched long, tight; to the breaking point. It was thin, weary, and pulled too far, too raw, almost to the point of _inefficient, useless, _and _disgusting._

It would not give.

Grey eyes waiting. Unblinking, straight as the taught arrow she had notched and ready to fire.

She felt the still air. The screaming silence stretched around her, the erratic beating of her heart. The heart that, no less than 24 hours ago, had been nestled in the sheets, tangled in affection and lust. Wonder, and happiness.

What kind of fucking good would those memories do for her now.

"…_Linda…" _

Terrible good. Spur of her anger, good.

Break her into a million pieces good.

Her fingers were raw, not used to the longevity of keeping her string so tight.

Her wrist was flickered with scars, some newer than others.

She paid no mind. Her whole mind was in a disarray of jumbled thoughts. She was an idiot.

The sound of the storm outside raged on in war.

She wondered if the speed of beats per minute that her heart was going could ever match the speed of his feet on the floor, as he sped away in glee at freedom.

She had been told to never hold down those who just needed to run.

She had only wanted a glimpse at perfection. That picture was burning up in smoke, as green eyes danced.

"_…Aunty Linda…."_

She fucking hated happily ever after's. But more so, she hated the fact that she couldn't give reason from experience, as her mind played movies and horror films and nightmares.

"…_.not Aunty Linda…."_

Bart Allen was not an impulse. He was an anomaly, a freak accident, and a means to their future. He was an impatient child who couldn't stand still even if you punched him in the teeth.

He also had a terribly habit of opening his mouth on topics he _really _shouldn't have.

"_Mal and Karen as teenagers- still looking fine after 35 years of marriage!"  
"Dick, whatever you think may be true, do __not __get rid of your finger stripes when you're older and want to spice up your uniform."  
"Tim, just remember, your girlfriend's baby will be fine." _

So when said devil child speedster turned his attention on Wally, Artemis of course had to be at the cave at that _exact _moment in time, hearing those _exact_ words, of their _exact future. _

She had been sparring with Dick, of all things, when the youngest speedster entered the training room as the few spectators watched and observed two non-metas go at it in a dance of wits and fists.

The right hook she had delivered to his jaw, and the swift under kick to unbalance her, were the same steps taken every time the ballads came on.

Dick and Artemis were familiar partners, and aware that they may have enjoyed the violent intent behind each jab a bit too much to be considered a quick 'demonstration' for the others.

Artemis grew up on assassination attempts and covert awareness of her surroundings. So, it was painfully obvious when Bart started to chat up his older counter part.

"_Who's Dick sparring with?' _He asked, as Wally tried (in vain) to ignore him in favor of the view of Artemis' backside.

Bart watched. Bart became entranced. Bart let his lips make a small _Oh _.

"_I didn't know Aunt Linda could fight like that! So Crash. And since when is her hair blonde?"_

_Crack!  
_

Dick finally landed a hard enough hit to allow for the _fail_ that emanated through the floor of the training room. Artemis laid stunned on the cold floor. There were a few gasps, a loud _Yes! _From Beast Boy, and then utter silence.

The silence hurt. Her body hurt. The floor, unforgiving.

Her ears, her huntress ears, tuned into listen.

"_Well, never mind on that comment then- I didn't know she joined the team in the past!_' Bart kept going, his voice taking on a laughing tone. Artemis, rolling over onto her stomach, sat up on her knees and hands, panting in _in, _out _out_. _'I thought she was all against even Jai and Irey with super powers, and after all, you guys may be married and stuff, but she's still against you being a hero in the future. Can't believe my own aunt is cool enough to go up against the Dick Grayson!"_

His voice echoed through the now deadly quiet rocks of Mt. Justice.

It seemed like endless moments, or none at all passed.

She was shaking. Shaking so god damn hard.

His red hair and green eyes, his up to take brain wasn't moving fast enough to comprehend just _what the fuck _ had just been slipped.

But she was.

And as her feet slapped the concrete of her grave yard floor, she refused to look up at her sight of perfection, with a dumb founded look on his face, and sudden realization drawing on his face.

God he was gorgeous.

God, she was a fool to think it would last.

And with god, and her as a non believing bitch, she disappeared into the zeta.


	2. Chapter 2

**Weeeoooo, new one shot! Sorry about the wait; this one was even just sitting on my comp for a while totally finished.  
Anyways, speculations of what actually is going to happen in Invasion made me write this. M'gann... swear to god..**

**Anyways, enjoy!**

* * *

She could see the orange, she could see the black.

She could see the movements, sly, precise, graceful as a bird.

But she was a tigress, and they were dominos, falling off cliffs with vigor, slow motion reels of tomorrow's films.

She was not a child. She hadn't been for a while.

Reaching within, pulling out the slumber of her mind, and shoving it away with the force of a hurricane. One last tile, she thought, as Gar fell to the rhythm of this animal's drum.

M'gann thrust it upon the cat, engulfed her like she had never before. Encasing like smoke, making her breathe it in, seeping it into her bones, and gripping their mind like she'd never let it go.

She wouldn't. Not after all this.

Small pinpricks of the outside world prodded at her power, like an annoying mosquito who wished to enter, to feed, to infect. But the martian was too far gone, _far _too gone to pay attention.

One moment they were bothersome- the next she couldn't tell the different between who was with her, and who was against her.

The Huntress squawked, roared, and begged. She was just a kitten after all.

The telepath was hit with nostalgia, her conscious showing her an eager image to stop.

She never listened to her conscious. It was what had caused too much pain already.

The tethered strings were being severed- more severely than she had done before. _Burned, Burn Burn burn. _

They rose in smoke, and the life line of the soul that once inhabited the creature was gone.

She was gone.

She was _**never **_there.

And as the Martian came too, moments later, the crowd that stared back at her glowing eyes were of shock, wallow, and confusion.

But the most fearsome were the blank silver pools, without life baring itself like a wild animal that she loved with intensity and had missed for the past elapsed time.

There was no use, Wally West; no use in pumping through her ribs to catch a hitch of a heartbeat. Her soul and mind were too far apart, _universes _apart at this point to re attach.

She was gone.

Artemis Crock was dead at the hands of the _actual _murderer in the room.

A murderer who simply could not stop her forthcomings, her anger, her sadness, her shame.

And so she became the one thing she swore she never would.

_Alone_.


End file.
